Night:Shade
by Rethtales
Summary: Old title: I Will Not Let Them. Night, an Irken military scientist, is assigned to give the traitor Tak a slow and painful death, but Night's past can't stay buried forever . . . she has no idea what she's in for. Much violence.
1. New Secure File: Journal:HLDfinalphase

A/N: Two song quotes in here, from "The Big Surprise" by the Elms and "Fall Awake" by the Echoing Green, respectively. Night is MINE and I know her well, so don't mess with her. We're both rather vicious sometimes.

* * *

Path: IrkenMilitary.IrkenElite.BioChem.Research.V47.Team12.LeadAgent4 

Verify Name: Night

Auth Code: xxxxxxxxxx

Encryption Level: Bioscan

Override: Disabled

File: Journal

* * *

Entry: Things are going well right now. Formula 8933 is showing much promise as a possible Horrible Liquid Doom, and 8974 looks like it will test well too. Maes came by on inspections today and told me the Tallest are very excited about the HLD project. He said if it turns out as well as expected, I could get Master rank for it. That would be a huge step, and one I've been hoping to achieve for years. 

I got a new pack of songs today from the post over at the supply center. It's getting hard to find what I like; with the Empire's expansion, a lot of the races that used to make good music have been wiped out, and the agents who supply the stuff have to go farther to find anything without heavy Irken influence. Not that our music is bad, it's just not what I want most of the time. There are a few really good songs in this pack, though, and I need to ask where they came from. I understand a lot of the words, but the metaphors are strange. The one I'm listening to right now -- "I'm your hand grenade and your lemonade cause I'll blow up and leave you sour"? What does that mean, Elms-creatures?

* * *

Entry: 8933 continues to test as expected. We should know in about four days for sure. The Tallest want to see the finished product, so we're supposed to inform the Massive as soon as we have it ready. They're in the area right now, and Maes says they'll probably come here personally. As Lead for the project, it will be my responsibility to present it to them. I'm a bit concerned; my appearance is not quite within their norms. There have only been two Elite Masters under twelve marks tall who were given that rank by the Tallest, and both were promoted for doing something utterly extraordinary. The side effects from all those viruses won't help. I've never heard of a mutated Elite Master under twenty-three marks tall, and those cases are usually just odd eye color or extra claws or something. Never one like me, with a mane, a tail, and fangs. The Division Masters have the ability to grant Elite Master rank, too (otherwise they'd never get enough Base Masters), and Maes has introduced me to our Div Master, Pri. He liked me and pretty much promised me rank. 

Well, I just solved my own problem. The Tallest don't have to make me a Master. Pri will, eventually. Of course, I still have to make a good impression if I ever hope to advance beyond Master. Then again, these Tallest won't last forever. I'm working on making sure I do.

Entry (part B): Found out where the songs came from. Zim would be irate if he knew there were Irken trade agents exporting "his" planet's music. Not that they're clumsy enough for him to even realize they're there. I wonder . . . if Zim were indestructible, how long would he keep going? I'm sure the Empire wouldn't risk a real Invader on the same planet as him. If Earth music is as good as I think, I may have found an actual use for that defective idiot -- defending my music supply!

"Nothing can break you, nothing can take you down." - Echoing Green

That stuff is so addictive.


	2. Result1:Success

Entry: No results yet on HLD. I didn't even go to the Team 12 labs today. The techs gave me their reports, nothing surprising. I won't go tomorrow either, unless there's a huge emergency. Vot wasn't upset about me taking a couple days to work in my lab; after all, I formulated 8933 so he can't be mad at me for much of anything right now. Unless he found out what I _did _do today, of course, which is why I'm not going tomorrow.

I upgraded the security on this system four days ago, so I finally feel safe writing about my BioPak project. Timing couldn't be better. I still feel stressed from that, even though I've been resting since I finished ten hours ago and the incisions have already started healing. But I did it. Everything shows that the anti-rejection virus is doing its job thus far. I gave Bav (next door) a temporary unlock code for my lab just in case, though. If anything does happen, I wouldn't want them cracking my code.

Another thing I wouldn't particularly want is to ever have to do that to myself again. I'm not a surgeon, and for good reason. If it had been anyone else's guts, I would have just ripped them out in frustration, but that would have defeated my entire purpose. That's probably a good part of why I'm so drained, on top of the stress I put on my body by cutting it open and stitching a bunch of strange stuff in there. But the BioPak implants are working. I checked the center cable (the PAK/BioPak connector) about an hour ago, and there is a steady flow of good data. I think I'll lie here and listen to music for a while, give my body and my new dual PAK time to get used to each other. Tomorrow I find out if the BioPak functions properly.

"We're breaking free of terrafirma tonight. It's the pinnacle fight of our lives." - Mortal

* * *

Entry: I'm amazed. I must have been really drained, because I actually passed out last night. It was only for an hour or so, but I remember that suddenly I was listening to music that I hadn't been last time I noticed, and I had a new quarter-day lab report waiting on my message center.

All tests continue as expected for 8933. The only thing left is confirmation of the Irken cellular reaction. I'm hoping we have a suitable defective to test on. That's always fun, especially with the weapons formulations that aren't meant to spare our kind. Then again, the techs say I only enjoy it because I don't have to clean up what's left of our subject afterward. I tell them, hey, what can you expect when you work in the research installation that specializes in creating the worst types of liquid, gaseous, and pellet-form death known to the galaxy. I especially liked the one we tested on the female who tried to attack the Tallest . . . I have never seen so much blood pour out of an Irken before. Word has it even Red threw up when he saw the video, but then again, I wouldn't expect someone as coddled as a Tallest to understand the simple beauty of an efficient chemical weapon.

Other news: I've been without my PAK for nearly half an hour now. I have it set up so it won't try to reattach itself unless I turn that function on. If I start feeling odd, I'll switch it to that mode, but nothing seems strange about my current state except the lack of familiar weight on my back. I have noticed that I don't think as clearly with the PAK on now, though. I think I need to upgrade its processor systems, now that it has to process both incoming and outgoing data constantly. That's my project for the day. I can also start doing memory dumps instead of writing everything out, since I can have the PAK off for so long. I'll still have to make notes on the files -- helps me think things through -- but it'll give me a more complete record of events.

"To be invincible is unattainable without sacrifice." - Skillet


	3. Final Experiment:Start

Memory download: Back at Team 12 labs; final cellular reaction test of 8933.

Things are so much more efficient since they stopped just killing most defectives and started giving them to us to play with first. I think this one has been through a few tests already; he looks a bit traumatized, but physically, he's fine. They put him in the chamber and seal the door. I insert a tube of heavily diluted 8933 into the release system, and within seconds, the stuff is gone, dispersed into the chamber. It evaporates quickly when exposed to air, just like I designed it to do. I check the monitor; video is recording. I'll want to review this carefully later, when we get the vital reading records synced with it.

He's nervous, I can tell. His eyes are shifting around a lot, and he stares at me for long spaces of time. I must be a terrifying last sight, lit from below by the glow of the control panel, the doomed subject's image reflected in my greenish-black eyes but partially obscured by that leftward-drooping streak of purple hair that runs down the center of my head. That makes me smile, and then I realize that by smiling I'm showing my fangs, which can't be comforting. Oh, how I love my job.

He's changing now. His eyes are turning dark green; he must be having trouble getting enough air. He's screaming, pounding on the window. It's soundproof, though. I watch his antennae carefully. They should be the first thing to go. I'm right. Their black outer casing is already bubbling and burning off, and they're starting to bleed. Within seconds, the gas has eaten them down to their cartilage cores. The skin on his eyes has ruptured now too; I can see the machinery of Elite vision implants poking out though the melting, bloody mass of tissue. A member of our proudest fighting force, reduced to screaming on the floor of a containment chamber -- well, not screaming anymore. He's convulsing, stiffening, his body almost ripping itself apart with its own enhanced strength. Most of his exposed skin is gone now, too. I can see muscle and bone poking out at his joints, blood oozing from millions of ruptured vessels as he writhes uncontrollably.

And now it's over. He's gone limp, his body unable to function any longer. We pump the gas out of the chamber into a compression cylinder, and one of the techs takes it to another part of the lab for analysis and neutralization. We wait five minutes after all-clear before opening the chamber, just to make sure he's really dead and all the gas is really gone. Three techs, wearing full protective gear, lift the body into a cart. One of our pathologists will dissect it, make out a report, and upload the data from the sensors we implanted to monitor his vital signs. We also have a programmer who will compare the data from the subject's PAK to an image of it created before the test. We're hoping HLD will be able to corrupt PAK data through alteration of biological processes.

It's my job now to analyze the chemical content of what we call "the mess", or whatever remains after the body has been removed. I pull on my gloves and a pair of boot covers, tuck my tail into my belt (why don't I just cut the thing off?), and carefully step halfway into the chamber. No one ever puts both feet in a test chamber except the subjects. I take a few samples, including a chunk of flesh-coated metal that was probably part of some implant, and drop them in containers for analysis.

* * *

Entry: Test results

We have finished Horrible Liquid Doom. 8933 had all our desired results, as it should after four years of alteration. Its effects:

1. Corrodes tissue rapidly, producing a quick and extremely painful death in Type 1 life forms

2. Causes powerful, random nerve firing resulting in corruption of PAK data in Irkens

3. Residue is not corrosive

4. Gases produced by reaction are toxic to Type 1 and 2 life forms but easily filtered out with a modification of standard Irken ventilation systems

5. One normal chem-weapons cartridge contains enough quick-evaporation HLD to kill up to 300 average-size Irkens, or 500 Vortians, or (full comparison listing in the report file)

So if we ever run into a problem with a shipful of renegades, all it'll take is a concentrated vial of this stuff to eliminate the problem permanently. And we can still strip their vessel for parts. We could even take out a planet with HLD if we were going to replace its atmosphere anyway. Or if we wanted anyone who went there to die. That might be interesting . . .

"Above once-solid cities, death still resonates." - Jyro.Xhan

* * *

Entry: Maes says the Massive is en route. He advised me to get the blood off my boots. It's my own, left over from when I did BioPak, but the Tallest won't be able to tell that. New music isn't in yet. All the places I attached the BioPak are aching. Means it's healing in. The processor updates worked, so my thought processes are the same with or without PAK. Memories from when I don't have it on don't get put into its drives unless I upload them through a transfer client. No more deleting records of my personal projects every inspection cycle; I'll just take my PAK off while I work on them and move this journal file to a storage drive no one will find. I have to be careful not to let my guard down and let anyone see me without the PAK, though. 

"You're ready for the implant, a big improvement over natural sight." - Under Midnight


	4. PresentationFile:HLD:Tallest

Memory download: Presentation of HLD; My first meeting with the Tallest

I'm as prepared as I'll ever get. I have my black lab uniform on, my boots polished, my mane clean and combed, and my tail pretty well-hidden under my coat. I'll have to take the music clasps off my antennae -- it doesn't look professional, though neither does the Tallest eating donuts during a meeting, but I guess they're above the rules.

"Night," someone calls. I turn to see Maes in the doorway of the presentation room. "They just entered the base," he says.

I take a deep breath. They shouldn't make me this nervous. If I looked normal, I wouldn't care about this nearly so much, but I _know_ they'll bring up my appearance. I take off the music clasps and put them in my belt pouch next to the audio drive they run off of. I really should get wireless ones next time I get paid. I wear out so many just because of the cords.

Okay, the file is in the computer, screen on, vial in box, lighting good, chairs comfy, donuts on table. I'm ready. I'm ready to meet the Tallest.

"I'm just saying we should call it something else."

"Like what? Horrible Liquid Doom is a good name."

That would be them.

When they enter the room, it's all I can do to keep my antennae from drooping in shock. I knew they were tall, but I had no idea they were _that _tall. They have to be almost three times my height. I swallow hard. I will not let them intimidate me.

"Greetings, Tallest," I say smoothly (not freaking out not freaking out), with a deep bow.

"Oh, hi," Red says, looking down at me. "You're . . . "

"Night, Tallest." Good. Someone told them about me. Red forgot, but they were told.

"Yeah, Night," Red says, still eyeing me curiously.

"Mind if I ask a question?" Purple inquires. "Why do you look like such a freak?"

They are my leaders. I have to respect them. I have to respect them.

"Side effects from several viruses I engineered," I say demurely. Be professional, Night!

"Oh really?" Red asks, taking a seat. Purple follows his example. "Which ones?"

"Race K, WhiteX, Pulsar, and Spectrum," I tell them. It's really only a partial list; these mutations are a mixture of various genetic effects. Red nods. Purple starts munching on a donut.

"So, you've got some Horrible Liquid Doom for us, right?" asks Purple, his antennae perking up.

"Yes, Tallest, I do." I pick up the small metal box from the table and lift its lid to reveal the vial of neon yellow fluid and a memory card containing our full report. Red takes it and picks up the vial, holding it to the light. Relax, Night, it's shatterproof. Relax.

"So what exactly does this do?" Red asks.

"It kills," I say. "Quickly, painfully, and efficiently. You're holding enough to wipe out the entire crew of the Massive."

"So this isn't one of those species-specific things?" asks Purple, looking slightly concerned.

"It is, in a way," I reply. I'm starting to enjoy this. "We performed the final test on a defective Elite yesterday. It met our standards for speed, level of agony, and corruption of PAK data."

Oh, the look on Purple's face is priceless! Apparently he didn't know we research ways to destroy our own race.

Red shows no sign of surprise. "So how does it kill, exactly?" he asks, laying the vial back in the box and placing it on the table between him and Purple.

"Allow me to show you our data," I say, starting the presentation file with my remote. It pops up a diagram of HLD's chemical structure and graphics depicting its interaction with cell membranes.

"The chemical destroys the outer casing of most kinds of cells in any Type 1 life form, resulting in the release of the liquid contents, " I explain. "This is more commonly known as a 'melting' effect, and it causes death by blood loss, dehydration, and shock."

Next screen. "This particular chemical also creates severe overfiring of the nervous system, which means powerful convulsions and extreme pain," I continue. "In Irkens, this effectively shorts out the sensitive equipment in the PAK, rendering it unusable and scrambling the data it contains."

One more screen. "The byproduct of reaction with organic matter is a toxic gas which prevents oxygen exchange at relatively low levels, creating a secondary killing ability which, while slower, is also less noticeable. This gas can be filtered out with a Class 3 biohazard air filter and poses no significant danger unless inhaled."

Purple is staring at me as if he can't believe what I just said.

Red smiles. "This should be useful," he says, "especially with the rumors of rebels we've been hearing."

"I am grateful you appreciate our effort, Tallest," I say, bowing deeply. I think he's taken a liking to me. I hope so.

"You . . . uh . . . I . . . " Purple stammers. He swallows his mouthful of donut. "Yeah, Horrible Liquid Doom is a good name for it," he says.

"So, do you have anything else in development?" Red asks.

"Well," I say, doing my best to stand a bit taller, "Team 10 has a --"

"No, _you_," Red says.

"I --" I'm starting to blush; I can feel it. "Vot hasn't told me my next assignment yet. He wanted me totally focused on the HLD project."

"Any projects you work on in your free time?" Red asks with a probing look.

I can't tell him about BioPak. Not a Tallest. I don't know if I can trust him. What else have you got, Night? There has to be something. Something he'd like. Ah! A bit old, but I do need to finish it . . .

"I have been working on a self-erasing mutagenic formula. It's supposed to cause rapid mutation, taking on the DNA it replaces in the subject. Then, after a predetermined period of dormancy, it reverses the mutation. The basic concept is in place, but I have a lot of small problems to solve before it's practical."

Red and Purple both look pleasantly surprised. "So, could it function as a disguise?" Red asks.

"That's the idea," I reply, smiling slightly.

Red gives Purple a questioning look. Purple cocks his head slightly, and Red replies with a subtle motion, indicating me. Purple's eyes widen slightly in recognition, and he nods.

They both get up but don't move to leave. "Night," Red says, "We've heard quite a bit about you from Maes."

"He said most of the breakthroughs on this project were yours," Purple adds.

I look at the floor. "I did accomplish a few --"

"We know you're good at what you do. This isn't the first time your name has come up." Red tells me. "You deserve recognition for your work."

"My Tallest, I --"

"Be on the Massive at six-thirty," Purple says. "We'll be waiting."

"Of course, Tallest," I say humbly.

"Make sure you're not late," Red says as they leave.

I won't be.


	5. Assignment:FortressD

Memory download: Meeting on the Massive

I enter the bridge, head held high, wearing my best uniform and trying to ignore the stares of the technicians. So they've never seen anything like me. There _isn't_ anything like me. Stare all you want; this is your only chance. Tell everyone how freaky the Tallests' guest of honor was today. They never singled _you_ out for recognition!

Red turns and sees me as I approach their dais. "Night! Come on up here," he says with a smile. I bow slightly before accepting his invitation.

"What is your command, my Tallest?" I ask, looking up at them.

"Incoming transmission!" calls one of the techs. "From Earth!" he adds.

Red and Purple both roll their eyes. "Onscreen," Purple sighs.

I look over at the main screen. It's Zim, with his weird defective robot bouncing around the room behind him.

"Greetings, my Tallest," he says, but then he stops. "What's that?" he asks, pointing at me.

"She is one of our best biochemical weapons engineers," Red says, with a slight edge on his voice. "Her name is Night, and she is an Elite Master. You will address her with respect."

Quite an interesting way to learn about my new rank. Not quite what I expected. But at least Zim looks appropriately shocked.

"I'm sorry, I meant no disrespect," he says. Silence. I realize the Tallest are waiting for me to answer him.

"An easy mistake," I say lightly. "Forget it."

"So . . . why did you call, Zim?" says Purple.

"I wanted to . . . uh, to . . . inform you that everything is going exactly as it should!" Zim said. I stifle a laugh. He forgot. He called the Tallest and then forgot _why!_ I have never seen anything _so_ defective in my life. No wonder they sent him off to such a remote planet.

"That's nice, Zim," Red says sarcastically. "We're busy. Call us some other time."

"Yeah," Purple adds. "Actually, don't! They could intercept your transmission!"

"I hadn't thought of that!" Zim says dramatically. "I will call you again when the plan is successful!" The screen flashes to static, and the Tallest both nearly collapse with laughter. I wait politely until they calm down.

"Hey! Get us a couple sodas up here!" Purple yells to one of the techs. Red elbows him, reminding him that I'm still here.

"Um, you heard what we said to Zim about you?" Red says.

"You referred to me as an Elite Master, even though that was not my rank," I reply.

"It is now," Purple says, handing Red a soda.

"We're moving you off V47," Red says, shifting the bottle of soda between his hands. "We need your talents somewhere else."

"Where, Tallest?" I ask. Purple is gulping down his soda a couple feet away, and I find it highly annoying. It disrupts the intensity of the moment.

"Fortress D," Red says. "Our current methods of interrogation and torture are not enough to get the information we need from many of the non-Irkens being held there. We need someone who can give them a nightmare world from which there is no escape but confession. Can you do that?"

Can I do that? Does he really need to ask?

I smile. "Trust me, Tallest. I know nightmares better than you can imagine."

"The threat is real when the red, it filters through." - Chevelle

* * *

Entry: _WHY DID I KEEP THAT PICTURE!_ Idiot! Why am I even writing this? Will that make it go away? Will it make me forget again? I'll have to delete this later. I don't want to remember. He's gone. He left for a better job, just like I'm doing. He said goodbye to no one, just like me. Except I'm not leaving a lifelong friend who has no one else to turn to. I will not do that to anyone. I will not cause that pain. It's bad enough he did it -- defective bastard! I hope he _was_ a defective. I hope he got discovered. I hope he got sent to V47 instead of just getting deactivated. Damn it, Rife! I _HATE_ you!

Please come back. I miss you so much.

You're so weak, Night. Such a pathetic little bug. Stop caring. Just stop caring. You know it'll be easier that way. You are darkness. You are about to become violence incarnate. Think of it. The Tallest trust you to do this, to break the unbreakable, to terrorize the fearless, to kill everything too weak to withstand your fury. Don't be weak. You'll only destroy yourself.

"God bless the man, soulless and free. What would it take for me to be?" -AP2

* * *

Entry: Not much time to write, and no privacy yet. I've been in/on Fortress D for four days. The place is almost all underground, with the exception of the entrance and the higher officials' quarters. Mine will have a glass ceiling in the relaxation room when they finish construction. Meanwhile, I share a room and a lab with Syre, a female I'll be supervising. She's taller than me and not too thrilled about me being in charge. I'll have to make sure she understands _why_ Red gave me this commission. I will not let an inferior treat me like I'm nothing.

Everything is extremely heavily guarded here; understandable, since it houses mainly traitors and rebels. The bioscans that were a formality on V47 are required here to enter one's own room or get to . . . well, almost anything. I had to get a special verification chip implanted because my DNA has been so altered by all the mutations that the scanners read my biosignature as "unknown species", and they're programmed to only accept Irken signatures. They called the Tallest and got their personal permission to make that exception. Actually, they got Red's permission. Purple was eating candy, and he kinda nodded when Red said it was important for me to have full access to the fortress.

Someone's here to see me.


	6. Good:NewStuff

Memory download: New quarters

I unlock the door with a hand scan. They put all my stuff in here while I was working today. Lights come on as I enter, but subtle ones. Just enough that I can see where I am. I'm standing in a small entry hall with a main lighting control next to the door opposite me. A sliding door off on the left is open halfway, revealing a few of my lab coats and dress cloaks. On the right is a mirror so I can make sure I look acceptable before I leave for the day. I pause to turn on most of the lights before entering the next room.

It's the central room, the all-purpose space. There's a table and chairs in the left-hand corner nearest me, next to a chiller box that has a programmable re-order pad on the door. I don't even have to buy my snacks now. They come with the job.

On my right is a storage area. In the far left-hand corner, on the opposite side of a door, is the cleaning and changing area, where all my clothes are stored. There's a screen that pulls out to hide the area, with mirrors on the inside of it. I find that a slightly twisted touch; usually only sexualized defectives want to hide when they change clothing. Then again, I get stared at enough with my clothes on. Extra privacy would be nice if anyone's ever here. Whoever designed this was thoughtful. (No! Quit thinking about him, idiot! He's an engine tech; it couldn't have been him anyway!)

The main computer center is in the back right corner of the room. I notice that the screen for the changing area is rather long, so I try tugging it across the room. Its magnets click onto the frame of the door on the right side of the room, effectively dividing it in half. I can hide my computer work if I need to. I shove the screen back into its slot in the wall and decide to open the door on the left of the room, since I'm right next to it.

This is the relaxation room. I've finally got my own private room for doing nothing in. My own big fluffy couch, my own warm oil bath, my own snack dispenser (I'm so important I don't even have to go to the next room to get my snacks!), my own entertainment screen and, best of all, a set of well-placed speakers. I can plug my audio drive in and dance for hours if I feel like it. Or I can just lie there, looking up through the glass ceiling and watching the ships among the stars all night long. Anything. No one can bother me here unless I let them. And I don't plan on letting anyone in here. It's all mine.

I'm reluctant to leave the relaxation room for my personal lab, which I know is what lies beyond the other door off the central room. When I get over there, though, I'm glad I did. It's got all the equipment I need, and several things I'd only played with before and wanted desperately. All my projects are in their proper cabinets, exactly according to the lab storage layout I submitted. My encoded drives (the ones with my journal, BioPak data, secret projects like HLD, and so on) are set up in their rack and connected to the computer system. Everything is just the way I want it.

I love my new job.

"And I'm trying to make you feel that this is for real . . . I'm just trying to make you sing." - David Crowder Band

* * *

Entry: I still need to put Syre in her place. She's been a real bitch today:

Memory download: I hate this female

I'm working. Entering data on my latest "session" with the Hilph accused of supplying critical engine parts and guidance programming to the traitor Tak. She's been at large for nearly ten years since her last crime, but we think we're close to pinning down her location.

Syre comes in and asks me what I'm doing.

"Making notes on torturing the Hilph," I tell her.

"Oh, like the part where you took off your jacket so he could see you have a tail?" she says. I can't tell how to take that comment.

"The effectiveness of physical versus purely psychological approaches," I say.

"So making him touch your fur versus just threatening to?"

That's enough of that.

"If you can't handle having a mutant for a supervisor, ask to be transferred," I say, turning to look at her.

"I never said I couldn't handle it," she says haughtily. And then she walks out.

Such a _bitch!_

"Come here boy, I'll show you funny." - Joy Electric

* * *

Entry: It's been a few days since I updated the journal. I've been busy on the self-reversing mutagen I mentioned to the Tallest. The most recent test is promising, though I'm not sure if the reversal coding works yet.

Memory download: SRM test

In watching Syre over the past few days, I've noticed she has some annoying habits. She tends to suck on one of her claws when she's thinking, and she also taps her claws almost constantly. I've taken to turning up the volume on my audio drive to drown out the sound whenever she's in the room. The claw-sucking thing I can tolerate, though. In fact, it's proving rather useful.

When I came in this morning, I coated the inside of her topmost pair of disposable gloves with a preparation of the SRM virus. It won't absorb easily through skin, but once the stuff gets in her mouth, it should only be a matter of time. I've been watching her all afternoon (she used the gloves this morning to mix a solution we're going to try on the Hilph), and she is starting to look a bit odd. Her eyes and skin are definitely turning brownish.

I have to go now and see what else the Hilph might be able to tell us. Syre will be off-shift by the time I'm done, so I'll have to wait for tomorrow to see what I've managed to do to her.

* * *

Memory download: SRM test, day 2

Syre calls me up (voice only; no video) and says she's not coming in. I tell her she's wrong; she is coming. She won't obey, so I force a video link with her computer.

It's all I can do to stop myself bursting out in laughter. It worked perfectly. Instead of the standard red-eyed, green-skinned Irken, I see a green-eyed _pink_ Irken!

"You think this is funny?" she asks.

"Quite a bit funnier than you making comments about my mutations," I reply.

"You did this to me somehow, didn't you?"

"No. It must have had something to do with those chemicals you mixed yesterday."

"It's some kind of virus, isn't it? I'm taking antiviral drugs now, so it won't progress any further."

"Fine, but you're still coming to work."

"Whatever."

Better than I could have hoped, at least in terms of revenge. By killing off the virus, she trapped herself that way. Unfortunately, it leaves out some key data I was hoping to get. Oh well, I can always test on one of the Irken prisoners here.

"It's got nothing to do with me. I feel it so violently, it's got nothing to do with me." - AP2


	7. TimeGap:1year:NewProject

* * *

Note: about a year worth of files should be here but are not (filename s-nut). 

"Switchblade, he's all right. When he gets drunk, he fights all night!" - Brian Setzer Swing Orchestra

* * *

Entry: They caught her. They caught Tak. She's already been convicted (almost as soon as they started uploading memories from her PAK), and they're bringing her in tonight to serve her sentence: progressive deactivation, which is a fancy term for torturing her until her body slowly shuts down. We're going to break her so hard she won't even know who she is anymore. 

Wait -- I'm getting a transmission from the Massive.

* * *

Memory download: Orders about Tak 

I hit "accept" on the control pad, and the Tallest pop up on my screen. I don't even get a chance to greet them.

"Night," Red says. "We have a job for you."

"Yes, Tallest?"

"You know Tak is being brought to Fortress D tonight, right?" Purple asks.

"Yes, Tallest."

"She's all yours," Red says. "No one else is allowed to handle her without your permission. We're trusting you, Night. She's the most dangerous non-defective in the Empire, and we don't want any mistakes. If she escapes . . . "

"We still have that Horrible Liquid Doom you gave us," Purple says with a meaningful smirk.

"Don't worry, Tallest. Once she's in my hands, she will never see the stars again."

"Bring us proof when you're done with her," Red says. "We'd rather not wait too long."

"It will be within the year," I tell them. "I see no point in dragging it out longer."

"Make sure it's at least three weeks, though," Red orders. "That's how long she kept us trapped."

"At least three weeks of hell for Tak," I repeat. "Anything else?"

"Not for now," Red says.

"Elite Master Night, signing off." I salute as the transmission ends.

"I've seen the end of the world, and it's futile running away." - Rune Dymenshan

* * *

Memory download: Prisoner transfer 

The ship has just come in to dock, and there are more guards in the bay than I've ever seen at one place before. The ship's door opens, and a tight group of Elites marches out. From my position on the deck above the bay, I can see Tak in the center of the knot. Her hands are tied, and there are cuffs on her ankles, connected by a cable just long enough to let her walk. There's a heavy metal shell over her PAK so she can't use any of its attachments.

The cruelest and most ingenious touch, though, is the clasp holding her antennae together. I've seen those on occasion (never used one myself), and their effects can be extremely disabling. It must be on a low setting, because Tak is weaving slightly as if she's dizzy. That's probably the result of the clasp mixing signals so she can't tell right from left. I think I'll use one on her, especially if they're kind enough to just leave that one in place. It should be interesting seeing if I can get the auditory/visual crossover I've heard of that device producing.

They've marched her out of the bay now, taking her to the encoding room and from there to the lockdown room I've set aside for her. It's not far from my quarters, so I can go play with her anytime I feel like it.

* * *

Memory download: Meeting her 

I wait as the system does a full bioscan before unlocking the inner door to Tak's cage. She's tied down on a restraining table, facing away from the door so she can't see me enter. I notice the clasp is still on her antennae. Good. The tablet I brought has the control program for it.

"Who are you?" she demands. Well, she's not broken yet. This should make the game more interesting for me.

"It doesn't matter who I am," I tell her, walking around the table so she can see me. "As far as you'e concerned, I'm just another mutant Irken whose life is worthless compared to yours. Right?"

"I know who you are. Night. The one who engineered WhiteX. Aren't you?"

"Why should you care?"

"I spent years trying to get a sample of that. It would have changed everything."

"That's why we destroyed it as soon as it served its purpose. We don't need a revolution."

She snorts. "You only say that because they've been kind to you so far."

"At least I have the forethought to cover up my crimes," I say coldly.

Tak looks disgusted. "I did too, once. Then they declared me a traitor for something I didn't do, but no one believed me. At that point, I decided that if they're going to destroy me, I want to deserve it." She stares at the ceiling with a fierce, icy look in her eyes, daring me to hurt her.

"Well, your destruction begins now," I say, switching a setting on the antenna clasp. Tak's face contorts; she's hearing a grating, high-pitched tone that, left on for a few days, has been known to drive Irkens insane.

She glares at me. "I expected more," she snarls. I shrug and add electrical interference to distort her sense of space. She closes her eyes, obviously trying to compose herself, fighting the sensations of falling and being closed in. She's starting to look sick. I'm curious how long she'll go before she throws up.

After a few minutes, she stops fighting so much. It's hard to tell if she's adjusted or just given up trying to resist. I need more data. I go to the storage area outside the containmnet cell and get a couple of readings kits from the medical cabinet.

"I thought you'd left me," Tak says mockingly as I re-enter the room.

"I'll always be back until you die," I reply as I open the kits. The first thing I put on her is the sensor collar; it provides the most data and gives a deceptive impression that the sensors are all skin-mounted. Next, I add the conductivity sensors, which don't cause pain but give important information on stress levels.

"So are you going to do any experiments on me?" she asks idly.

"I haven't decided," I tell her as I unwrap one of the body core sensors, a long, thin needle with several wires leading from it. I find the proper spot between her ribs and slip it in. Judging by its length, the point should be somewhere near her midline. I just hope I've angled it up enough to avoid seriously damaging her organs; it wouldn't do to have her die too soon. Surprisingly, she didn't make a sound, despite the fact that it must have hurt quite a bit. High tolerance for pain. I'll have to remember that.

Two more of those and I have all the data sources I need. Some torturers use sensors in the brain or PAK to monitor their subject's mental state. Their eyes tell me all I care to know.

"So when is this going to start being painful?" Tak sighs boredly.

"I don't give that kind of information," I say. I will not let her goad me into killing her that quickly. That's what she wants, and I refuse to give her that release. I check her readings and watch her for a moment. The tone is still on, and I can tell it's getting to her. The way her antennae twitch, the slight unfocused look in her eyes when she stops watching me, and the tension in her upper body speak eloquently of internal fury at the unstoppable noise. That's plenty for our first session.

"Leaving already?" she yells as the door slams shut behind me.

I can see why the Tallest want her to die slowly.

"Never found beaten down with your forked tongue tied." - Showbread

* * *

A/N: I know you're thinking it, and you're wrong. You're so wrong. Night's not like that. 

And yes, there is an explanation for those missing files. It's another story. (Literally! It'll be a separate story on here when it gets written.)


	8. Research:Tak,Zim,Humans

Memory download: SRM with Tak

It's been almost two days since I left her alone with that horrible high-pitched noise. I'm ready for anything when I walk into that room, from a foaming, savage thing to the same nonchalant attitude she gave me before.

The first thing I see as the door opens is her antennae, drooping over the edge of the table, still held by the clasp. She hears me enter and they perk up slightly.

"Back already?" Her voice is quiet and hoarse, as if she's been yelling the entire time I was gone. Probably trying to drown out the tone in her head. I don't respond. I was too friendly last time. I don't want her thinking we have any kind of understanding.

I set up the mixtures I've brought on a cart where she can see exactly what I'm doing. She'll have a millon questions, but I'm not answering them.

"What is that stuff?"

And here comes the barrage.

"Are you listening to me?"

I turn up the volume of my music as I draw the dose of my latest SRM preparation. I walk over to the restraining table and program it to readjust every .05 seconds as Tak's shape changes. Well, it'll get tighter as needed. I'll have to loosen it myself when she changes back. I'm not taking chances.

I cut away the sleeve on her right arm. She won't need clothing anymore anyway. I raise a vein and plunge the needle in, forcing every drop of the solution into her blood. With the higher concentration, she'll change much faster than Syre did.

"What is that? What does it do?" Her questions are curious, not really panicked, and I find that annoying.

I sit down on a stool a few feet away and watch. Her biosignatures are already changing. She's not registering as Tak anymore. She feels the changes, her limbs growing shorter, the restraints moving with them. The clip falls off her antennae as they shorten and uncurl. I pick it up and snap it back on.

"What is this? What did you do to me?" The voice is definitely not Tak's. I grin. So annoying, yes, but her reaction . . . it's even better than Purple discovering the purpose of HLD.

"Is this . . . it can't be . . . how did you . . ." I enter a command in the tablet, and a mirror descends from the ceiling and turns so she can look at herself.

She screams as she stares into a face I know she finds horribly familiar.

"No! You can't do this to me! It's not possible! It'll -- _NOOOO_!" That voice is _annoying_. I'm sure she/he/whatever would shut up if I revealed that it's just temporary, but I'm not saying anything.

"I can't be Zim! I'm Tak. I'm Tak. I'm not Zim. I'm not male. I'm not. It's a dream, it has to be a dream. What did I have to drink last night? Maybe it was the noise . . . I'm hallucinating. I'm not Zim."

"You sure sound like Zim." I just _had _to say that.

"But I'm not Zim. Even if I look like him, I'm not." There's a clunk from the depression in the table where her PAK rests. Her eyes widen. There's a side effect I need to iron out. The changes in her DNA caused her PAK to detach.

"Make it stop," she wails, turning to me.

I just close my eyes and shrug. If it doesn't reverse within ten minutes, she hasn't got a chance. I'll just let her rot in here until the three weeks are up. Being Zim for ten minutes would probably scar her more than two and a half weeks of physical torture anyway.

As the six-minute mark passes, I notice her starting to change again. Her eyes become more and more purple, her antennae lengthen and curl at the tips, and she starts getting taller and a bit thicker-limbed. With a wet _chunk_, her PAK reattatches. She's Tak again, complete with raspy voice from yelling so much.

And she's panting. Her body isn't showing signs of serious physical stress; this is purely psychological. I guess I will be doing experiments on her after all. And I just thought of the best way to kill her . . . the best way anyone has ever devised. It's so exciting I can barely wait until her three weeks are up.

"Here comes the BOOM! Haha, how you like me now?" - P.O.D.

* * *

Entry: Taking a break from DNA formualtion modeling for a new SRM. It gives me a headache how defective Zim is. All that time on Earth and he hasn't even sent us a DNA sample of the dominant native species. I have to work from images, which aren't very good and which don't provide me with enough detail. Perhaps if I upload some memories from Tak's PAK I can get a better idea of what to aim for, maybe have a couple computer techs build me some 3-D models.

Right now, I have something worked up based on Irken DNA, and it looks sort of similar to a human, but not similar enough. I've succeeded in creating very low-set, short, thick antennae, but I can't make them turn into anything that looks convincingly like ears. The nose is beyond me as well; I need to outcross to a race with something similar if I'm going to manage anything like what the humans have. Also, the sheer amount of flesh on some of those things amazes me. They must have amazingly strong bones to support so much weight. Even the thinner ones would make rather heavily-built Irkens.

Brilliant idea: I'll just pay the traders to grab me a pallette of DNA samples (and images to go with them) when they get my music. That way, I can work with the real stuff. It'll take a while to get, but the process will be so much faster once I have it.

"Got money, I'll do anything for you." - NIN

* * *

Entry: The DNA samples should be in with my next music pack. Now comes the hard part: I need data from Zim's PAK. I've assigned one of our info techs to find it for me; supposedly, it wasn't deleted like it should have been after his EET because the Control Brains overrode the protocol when they went crazy. There are supposed to be safeguard systems that block out any Zim-originated data from the central network, but a good tech like the one I've got should be able to work around that.

I approved the final plans for my ship today. I've been working on getting one built for the past month or so, partially because I would like to have my own transportation and also as a backup computer system so I can destroy the data on my main computer if it ever gets compromised, without losing anything important. They don't usually inspect ship's computers anyway.

The pay raise that comes with Master rank is so useful I can't even begin to describe it. I still never have quite enough money, but that's because I have such a voracious music habit and am always working on projects that aren't legal enough to get past the finance drones without getting me in trouble. At least I don't spend all my money buying expensive black-market snacks.

* * *

Memory download: File quarantine 

My tech came through, and faster than I expected. He brought me a drive today with practically all the data that was in Zim's PAK when his trial took place. He also got me recordings of all his transmissions to the Tallest since then. I've been prepping a non-networked system for the past few hours, and now I'm just waiting for the upload to complete. I've even got a pair of good VR goggles hooked up to it, so I can experience his world. I could have done a direct link into my PAK, but the risk of spreading the corrupted data and thus turning myself into some sort of half-Zim defective is not one I'm willing to take just to torture Tak more effectively. This could be dangerous enough as it is.

Entry: I've been listening to "Fall Awake" and reading old journals for half an hour now, just to remind myself of who I really am and what my life is like. That creature is _insane!_ I have only met one other Irken that crazy, and he was at least _smart_ about it! Zim is just an idiot. He believes he's a top-notch Invader! He actually thinks he's admired! I just can't comprehend that. Tak won't like it either, I think. Of course, she might, if you think about it from a certain perspective. Will I let myself be that twisted?

Yes, I think I will.

"I can't wait to hear you scream." - Misfits

* * *

Entry: DNA samples are in. I've got a pretty good idea of the coding for the human SRM I'm working on. I wonder if I could . . . hm. Not sure I want to go that direction. What would be worst? What is the single worst situation Tak could find herself in, ever? I know it would involve Zim, and probably that human he fights with all the time, but what, exactly, would it be?

Entry (part B): I know exactly what I'm doing. I need to run a few tests so I can get a version that will stay PAK-compatible.

* * *

Memory download: (streaming)

Uhh, don'twannatyperightnow. I finally got a PAK-friendly working version, after doing nothing else for four days. I used some random prisoner, and he freaked out when he realized what had happened, just like Tak did. But anyways, things are coming along. All I have to do is force some medical tech to watch a couple hours of those recordings I have in the data quarantine and we should be good to go in that area. But I have other plans for Tak first. After all, she still has ten days to live.

"Darkness never seemed to shine so bright." - Juggernautz

* * *

A/N: I know the ending of this story now. Some of you might hate it, but it's not like I had a choice in the matter.  



	9. Initiate:FileCorrupt

Memory download: Setup

I enter a code on the controls just outside Tak's door and wait as the system pumps the room full of Fog46. Tak's vital signs shift slowly into the typical pattern of deep unconsciousness. When I'm satisfied that she's not gonna come out of it anytime soon, I reverse the command and wait for the gas to drop below safe levels. I have to wait longer than most; what's safe for an average Irken can still make me wobbly.

While the ventilation system does its work, I check over the gear I have on my cart. There's a PAK cover with a connector cable threaded through it, a disk reader (the kind used for training downloads), a training disk switcher that will place the proper disks into the reader according to remote commands, a gear rack, and various tools and hardware. Looks like everything I need. I pull on my safety goggles. The meter is at safe level now.

I check Tak first. She doesn't respond, even when I jab her with my claws. Good. This shouldn't take long enough for the anaesthetic to wear off.

Pulling the cart up to the table, I crawl underneath and work open the latches on the PAK cover. It's difficult to get off, but that fact has saved my life a few times, so I refuse to complain. When I finally remove it, I can't suppress a smile.

I force the main panel on her PAK to open, revealing the various cables and ports inside, as well as her folded spider legs. I'm seriously surprised they left those. Not like she needs them anymore . . .

Pulling out the spider legs adds a few minutes to my time estimate, but I think it's worthwhile. Even if she never knows who did it, the psychological effects of trying to use them and discovering they're gone are well worth the time it takes.

I plug the connector cable into its port and latch the new PAK cover in place. After a little careful thought, I find a good place to bolt the gear rack and mark out the attachment points.

Drilling through metal is one of the worst sounds I can imagine. Even with my antennae flat against my head, it's still almost unbearable. At least I only have to drill two holes.

Finally, the horrible noise is over. I bolt the gear rack on and mount the disk reader and changer to it, then plug the cable from Tak's PAK into the reader. Job done. Now, all I need to do is set up the programming. Seven disks; one per day. Tak may never figure out what's happening, but I sincerely hope she does.

"It's no crying shame. How'd you get so . . . unlucky?" - Starflyer 59

* * *

Entry: It's been two days, and she's already getting annoying. I went in there today, and she insisted that she was the most amazing Irken Elite ever and that the Tallest were making a huge mistake. I told her she sounded like she was going defective from the stress of being trapped here. She got mad at me for saying that.

* * *

Entry: Day five, changes are subtle but there. I'll leave her until the last upload is done.

* * *

Memory download: Corruption complete

I don't think she really realized how she'd changed until I stopped by today.

"So you finally come back? Why do you leave Tak alone? Can you not stand the thought of harming my incredible self?"

She'll never know how much torturing her hurts me; I'm gonna get a real headache if she doesn't shut up soon.

"Answer me!"

"You're cocky for someone strapped to a table, Zim-girl," I snarl as I unlatch her PAK cable from the disk switcher.

"Do not insult ZIM! Uh -- I -- No!"

I can't help but laugh.

She stares at me. I'm not sure whether there's more anger or fear in her expression.

"What did you do to me?" she demands.

"I can't tell you that," I say with a smug look. "It's classified."

"You will _pay_ for this, defective," she growls. "You will not withstand the MIGHTY WRATH of TAK!"

"I find that volume really annoying. Could you tone it down some?"

"Tak will do what Tak wishes!"

"Tak never talks about herself in third-person. Only Zim does that."

"_Shut up!_ I'm _not_ Zim!"

"You're lying to yourself. You're just like him and you know it."

"_What did you DO to me!_" I wince at the volume of her scream. It had a rough quality; she had to have damaged her vocal cords with that one.

"It's more like what you brought on yourself. You betrayed the Empire, attacked our ships, stole from us, killed innocent Irkens. You are bad for us, just like Zim. Except he's in exile, so he's not an immediate problem. You are, and it's time to remove you. This is just a reminder of why."

I change a few settings on the restraining table. Now, if she yells any more, she'll get a shock five seconds later. It should be interesting to see how long it takes her to figure that one out. She's only got a day before the real fun starts.

"When will I begin my killing spree? Let it begin with you. You don't even know what tomorrow will bring . . . " -S.S. Bountyhunter

* * *

A/N: Yes, I know this update took forever. I didn't realize I hadn't posted this yet (thanks to my friend Invader Sideos for bugging me about the lack of updates), and I want to finish the Tak section before I post any more so I can be sure it's internally consistent. Expect a wait of at least a week, maybe two; I have end-of-quarter work explosion going on. But once I get this section done, the real fun begins . . .at least for me. Night's gonna hate it. 


	10. Stage2:Prep

Entry: It's all just about ready. I have the SRM prepped and tested (though it feels strange beyond description to be human), and Cor the med tech is getting into character by watching a few hours of VR from Zim's PAK. I decided to be nice and not infect him with the code; he's done me some favors, and besides, I couldn't risk messing this up.

Memory download: Fun

We knock Tak out before going in; it'll be much more dramatic if she wakes up and sees everything prepared.

Cor pushes the cart over to the table and inspects Tak.

"You haven't done much to her."

"Physical torture doesn't work well on that one," I say as I pull off my shirt. I don't want the shift to destroy these clothes. Cor starts prepping Tak. I detach my PAK; since humans don't need them, it won't be a problem for Cor to see me without it. I take a deep breath and shove the needle into my arm. This is gonna hurt.

It takes nearly three minutes for the change to complete. I look myself over. Pale, hairy skin, some things between my legs I'd rather not think about the purpose of, two extra fingers, practically no claws . . . but at least the motor control systems in my brain are well-tuned to this body. I pull on the black pants I managed to get made, as well as the dusty-blue shirt with the face on it, and throw the long black coat over that. I'm grinning, just like he would be in this situation. I call a mirror over with the tablet. Even the hair is perfect. I laugh, and the difference in my voice surprises me. This is just too good!

"She's about ready," Cor calls.

"I'm done," I tell him. "You go ahead and change."

"You even smell like an alien," Cor remarks as I come over to the table.

"Thanks," I say. "I just hope I smell like the right one."

Cor injects his own SRM, and within thirty seconds, I'm looking across the table at a taller, magenta-eyed Irken, pulling on a military uniform with the distinctive capelet of a Master Invader.

"Looks like it's time to wake her up," I say.

"Such pretty skin . . . give it to us." - Showbread

* * *

So here we go . . . chapter 10 is done, and I'm posting it sometime this weekend so I'll HAVE to finish chapter 11 soon, after which the story takes a drastically different direction.  



	11. Begin:End

WARNING: All faint of heart, stomach or squeedily spooch, turn back now. This is the chapter that earned the story its M rating.

and yeah, I don't own the IZ universe, but Night SO owns Tak in this scene . . .

* * *

Memory download: (continuation)

"You remember our story, right?" I ask Cor.

"Of course," he replies. He gives Tak a stimulant injection, and we both stand there, waiting.

Finally, her eyes flicker open, and she looks around groggily. Then she sees me and she's wide awake. "You -- how did you get --"

"Him," I say, jerking a thumb toward Cor. Now Tak's eyes are really huge; I didn't think they could _get_ that big.

"You're -- you're . . . "

"Zim," Cor says smugly. "And you will address me as Master Invader Zim."

"But what -- how --"

Cor looks to me. "Dib, you tell her."

"Of course," I say, inclining my head respectfully toward him. Tak stares up at me, both curious and horrified. "It appears you've been unconscious for several years. The Irken Armada conquered Earth about a month ago. Fortunately for me, I was working with Zim when the notice came through, and he offered to save me if I would be loyal to the Empire. I took him up on it, and they offered me an excellent position. There was only one thing they didn't offer that I asked for."

Silence falls for a couple seconds. Tak starts looking nervous. Finally, she asks, "What was it?"

I smile, a sadistic expression that might not be accurate to the Dib, but I don't think she's logical enough to realize that now. "I spent all those years chasing Zim, trying to catch him and cut him open so I could see what his guts looked like, but he always got away. I figured the least they could do for me is give me a decent substitute."

I an see the dawning horror on Tak's face, and I have to stop myself from breaking character by bursting out laughing. I've got her right where I want her now.

I pull on my gloves and pick up a pair of scissors.

"No! Please, I'll do anything you want!" she screeches.

"Then be quiet and lie still," I say coldly.

"I'm an Irken Elite! You can't do this to me!"

"You're a filthy traitor," Cor (or shall I call him Zim?) hisses. "You have no rank. You're nothing but a body and a PAK that hasn't been scrapped yet." He's good at this.

I cut away her clothes. She has a scar across her chest that looks like the result of being clawed in a fight. I set aside the scissors and pick up a scalpel.

"Where would be best?" I ask Cor.

"Down the midline, starting about there," he says, indicating a point just below the bottom of Tak's breastbone. "Then horizontal incisions, top and bottom, so you don't have to tear the skin to peel it back."

She's quiet now, watching the blade as I hold it poised over her body. "How deep?" I ask.

"Not very," Cor replies. "You don't want to go too far into the muscle layer this time."

I move the knife to the place he pointed out, just letting it touch her. I glance up at her face. Her eyes are closed and she's breathing deeply, trying to prepare herself for the pain. I wait until she looks a little less focused before I press the blade in.

It's amazing how easy it is to slice through skin with the proper tools. I have to be careful not to cut too deep or let her avoid the blade by sucking her stomach in, but aside from that, it's almost effortless. The gooey green blood wells up quickly in the cut, making a bold line across her abdomen. She makes it a lot easier by staying quiet, or, as she probably thinks, refusing to give us the satisfaction of knowing how much pain she's in.

In all honesty, I don't care how much this hurts her body. I know what it's doing to her mind, and that's plenty. I told Cor I want her awake and aware as long as possible. It'll be interesting to see how long she can go without medication.

I have the three incisions finished, and I peel the skin back with forceps, using the scalpel to slice through the membrane holding it to the muscle whenever necessary. There's not much blood, and I can see exactly how the muscles are laid out, which direction they'd pull if tensed, everything. Their deep bluish-green is masked somewhat by the pale connective tissues that hold them together.

"This is incredible," I mutter, tracing the curve where two muscle groups meet admiringly. I know it's something the Dib would do, and it probably hurts Tak like crazy.

"The physiology of a truly superior race," Cor says. "Go ahead and cut through the muscle layer. You can examine her muscles more closely after we're done with the major organs."

As I cut through her stomach muscles, Tak finally starts to break. Her breathing is fast now, and every time I push the scalpel, she lets out a little cry. Her eyes are closed, but that doesn't stop the tears. I look up at Cor and sign to him that I don't want her in quite that much pain. He alters the mixture of fluids in her IV, adding painkillers. By the time I finish the third incision, she's more relaxed, though I've noticed she refuses to look at anything but the ceiling. The mighty rebel Tak can't even handle seeing her own guts. If only I could come up with an excuse to put that mirror back over the table . . . too bad I didn't put it in place before we woke her up. I'll have to remember to do that next time.

I pull back the muscle layer to reveal a glistening mass of organs. I have a general idea of what most of them are; I've had to learn the basics of anatomy over the years, but I have to feign ignorance to play my role accurately.

I poke something rounded and brownish. "What's that?"

"The filpet," Cor replies. "It's part of the squeedily spooch, and it filters toxins out of the blood."

"What about that?" I ask, indicating a pale, spongy-looking mass.

"That's the oroplasic foop, another part of the squeedily spooch. It produces a lot of the enzymes for digestion and such. You can go ahead and remove it."

I try not to smile too cruelly as I lift the flat, floppy organ and start cutting away at its conncections to the rest of Tak's body. Her eyes are closed, and she's breathing fast. I can see the lower connections of the muscles that expand her air sacs, and I pause to watch them tense and relax. I've never done anything quite like this before, and I'm finding myself amazed at some of the small wonders of the Irken body.

Cor's voice cuts into my thoughts. "Incredible, isn't it?"

"Yes," I say. "It's fascinating."

"You see why I say we're one of the most highly evolved races that ever existed?"

"Definitely." With that, I resume my cutting. A few more careful movements of the blade and the organ comes free. I hand it to Cor, who drops it in a clear plastic tray next to Tak's head.

And she had just opened her eyes, too. That shocked expression is exactly what I was looking for. She's staring at the slimy lump of tissue, obviously trying to wrap her mind around the fact that it's part of her body lying in that tray, a part that had never even been exposed to light before today.

We go through the same process with most of her digestive system, removing anything that won't cause too much blood loss. By the time we're done with our list for the day, about a third of her squeedily spooch is piled in the tray.

"I think that's enough for now," I say as I hand Cor another gland to add to the pile.

"I agree," he says. "I'll go ahead and knock her out so she won't be squirming around, messing things up for tomorrow."

"Fuck you," Tak hisses as he fills a needle with anaesthetic.

"That would be much more threatening if it were biologically possible," I remark as he jams the needle into her neck. I see her take a breath to respond, but the chemical overwhelms her before she can say anything.

I sigh in relief. "Finally. I have _got_ to get out of this body." I take a bottle and a fresh syringe off the cart and give myself a shot of the reversal trigger for the SRM. I added that aspect just for this application; it wouldn't do for us to be limited by time the way we would with a normal one. I hurriedly pull off my clothes before the change gets too intense.

By the time I'm done getting dressed, Cor is his usual self again, too. He checks to make sure Tak is still unconscious while I get a carrier. We unstrap her and lay her on it. Cor fits her with a mask that will keep her out until we get her to the new room. We can't take any chances on a creature like this waking up unbound, even if she has been cut open and is missing all her nonessential organs.

The room we move her to has more extensive equipment; it's a vivisection lab, instead of the torture facilities I usually use. We lock her into a frame that allows full access to the whole body; it even has a PAK shell that pulls the PAK away from the subject's back a little bit to allow access to the attachment points and cables. It also won't let her move at all, and it's fully adjustable so we can fix her in any position we want.

"Anything else?" Cor asks me.

"Not tonight," I say. "Just make sure she's not gonna wake up before we come back tomorrow."

"Already taken care of," Cor says with a smile.

"Then I think we're done for today."

I glance back at her as I leave the room. In that position, spread-eagled in a metal rack with her abdomen laid open and a lot of her organs missing, she looks absolutely pathetic.

I turn out the light and slide the door shut.

I'm definitely doing the Empire a favor.

"There's always some killing you've got to do around the farm." - Tom Waits


	12. End:Tak

Same warning as last chapter.

* * *

Memory download: Day two

Cor and I meet early at the lab and get into disguise quickly. In a way, the past three weeks have just been a buildup to this. And we've spent enough time planning that it's gonna be good.

Cor wakes Tak up with a stimulant.

She sees me and growls. "Human scum," she snarls.

"Go ahead and insult me while you still have vocal cords," I say coolly. I turn to Cor. "So what's first on the list?"

"I was thinking of showing you how the antennae work," he says.

I nod. "Sounds good to me."

Under his direction, I remove a ring of skin around the base of Tak's right antenna to show the muscle connections that make it move. I tickle the little hairs on the shaft of it and watch as it twitches involuntarily in response. Then I do it again. And again. It's actually quite fun to watch.

"Stop it!" Tak yells.

And it's annoying, too, apparently. I could keep doing that for an hour or so, but Cor clears his throat impatiently, signaling that we need to move on. He hands me a container of a paralyzing chemical, and I rub the stuff on the exposed muscles around the antenna so it won't twitch as I handle it.

Cor shows me how to cut lightly through the casing with minimal damage to the nerve bundles underneath. I've never actually opened up an antenna before, and I find it fascinating. It's composed mainly of little fibrous bunches of nerves wrapped in connective membranes and attatched to a cartilage stalk. There are also a lot of tiny blood vessels, so we have to keep applying a chemical cold-cauterizer to stop blood from getting everywhere and making it too hard to see.

After inspecting that, I move back to the base of the antenna, where I carefully sever the muscles and tendons holding it in place and pull it away from Tak's skull slightly to show the main nerve that carries all that information to her brain. It's a surprisingly thin white cord. Cor grasps it with a pair of forceps right where it enters the skull, and I snap it with a light touch of the scalpel, then hand him the antenna before taking over the forceps holding the nerve. He puts the antenna in today's tray, then glances at Tak's expression and adds a little more painkiller to her IV mix.

I tug on the nerve just to see what'll happen. It gives me quite a bit of resistance before it finally snaps. I hear Tak bite back a yelp. I shrug and drop the segment of nerve into the tray as well.

As Cor prepares the equipment for our next phase, I step back and look at Tak. She doesn't really look Irken anymore. The slimy bluish green of exposed muscle and the darker, duller green of congealing blood have overpowered the usual color of her skin. Her eyes seem unnaturally dark and glossy because of all the drugs we're pumping into her to keep her conscious. The missing antenna tops it all off. I feel a stange pride and coldness rise in me. This isn't one of my own kind. I am just what I appear to be: a scientist dissecting an alien, purely out of curiosity.

"Ready," Cor informs me.

I walk over and take the bone shears from his hand.

I think I'm ready to take this creature apart.

* * *

Entry: Needed a break from managing downloads. Here we go again . . .

Memory download: (continuation)

The heavy shears snap through Tak's ribs easily. She closes her eyes and grimaces, obviously trying to shut out the sound and feel of the crunch as the blades sever her bones. I pull away the front secton of her ribcage and slice through the muscles and tendons that expand her air sacs. There are still enough attached to other parts of her ribcage to let her breathe.

Now, all her remaining organs are fully visible. I spend a few minutes poking around, asking Cor questions, which he answers in a rather arrogant, Zim-like fashion. Finally, I get bored with that. I know I may be taking things a little bit quickly, but the thrill of having accomplished this is one feeling I don't want to wait for. My Tallest will be so proud.

I get to work, moving as slowly as I dare. We talked over timing a lot; Cor is watching her vital signs closely to make sure she doesn't die before I'm done. I carefully follow the plan he laid out for me, his directions barely more than formailites now.

First, most of the connective tissues that hold the organs in place. Those go fast. Next, the muscles that expand the air sacs. She's getting enough oxygen in her blood from the IV mix. I remove the air sacs with Cor's help, using the chemical cauterizer to rig a temporary connection between the blood vessels in and out of them so she won't lose blood as fast. Tak's eyes are shut tight, tears running down her face. We can't give her any more painkiller without knocking her out. Cor increases the stimulants in the mix so she won't lose too much awareness due to pain.

Then, I take out the organs that filter toxins from the blood, making sure to close off as many of the blood vessels as I can. It's only a matter of time now; a green pool is already forming in the bottom of Tak's body cavity. I glance up to Cor at his computer console. He nods, signaling me that he's shut down the life support systems in her PAK so that once I kill her, it won't keep trying to shock her back to life. I dump the organs I just pulled out into the tray and move up close to Tak's face.

"You can still hear me, right?" I ask coldly.

Tak replies with a weak nod, and her eyes open slightly.

"Good. That means you're still alive enough to feel."

I notice that her eyes get a bit wide at that, and I smile as I step back to stand over her chest. It's an empty place, walled in blue-green streaked with white. Almost in the middle of its gore-covered floor lies the only thing left for me to deal with: her heart. I slip my hand under it, making sure it's already loose, feeling the rythmic throbbing quicken as Tak realizes just how close the end of her life is.

Cor takes the scalpel from my hand and replaces it with a knife he pulled from his belt. I flip it open, briefly admiring its clean, cruel design. Unlike the scalpel, this is big enough to cut all the major blood vessels that attach to the heart with one swipe, and it's no less sharp than any surgical instrument.

I hold it ready to strike and pause, looking up at Tak. She stares back at me, her eyes full of undisguised terror and pleading. I smile savagely. Too bad she can't talk anymore; I'd love to hear her beg for her life.

A stroke with the knife, feeling treads of tissue ripping as I draw the blade through them, a huge warm gush of blood,the feeling of the still-throbbing lump of flesh in my left hand coming free, and that is it. Tak has ceased to exist. All that remains is a torn-up carcass and a PAK that still needs to be erased. More than enough to show the Tallest, I think.

* * *

Entry: I have the required "proof" prepared (or would preserved be a better word?), and tomorrow I present it to the Tallest. The Massive is currently only a few hours away at the speeds my ship can travel, so I can afford to stay around here a while longer before I need to leave. The maintenance drones are coming in to fix a couple of things that have been annoying me while I'm away, so I'm making sure all my potentially compromising data is stored on the ship's computer and deleting it from this one. All my journal drives are going with me, too. I don't trust anyone who can get into my apartment, not after what happened last time.

Okay, I'm gonna go watch a movie and eat cookies now. I think I deserve it.

"Play it loud, play it loud!" - MxPx

* * *

So there we go. Tak is dead, and things are gonna get quite a bit less violent for a while. But they'll stay nice and freaky, that's for sure.  



	13. Error:Unknown

Path: NebulaRunner:CentralComputer:PersonalFiles:Journals

Verify Name: Night

Auth Code: xxxxxxxxxxx

Encryption Level: Bioscan

Override: Disabled

* * *

File: ReplacementJournal

Entry: I am officially scared. I'm in my ship, in the middle of nowhere, and the computer says two days have passed since the last day I made an entry.

I don't remember any of it.

Worse yet, I can't access my secure files. The password has been changed on all of them. No one could have known it but me . . . unless something very serious happened. And two days of blackout indicates something very, very serious.

Unless my ship's clock is wrong, but it was right last time I checked. And that still leaves me with the question of how I got here.

Another thing: the evidence I had packed to give the Tallest is gone. I don't know why or who would have taken it. But then again, I don't know who would have done any of this.

Idiot, check your messages!

Memory download: message center check

I open the main message folder, and I find a flood of new items. Well, items I don't recognize. Most of them are marked as already read. Whoever did this knows _all _my passwords. The older ones are mainly from people I supervise who want to suck up to me, wishing me luck at my meeting with the Tallest. Then a few wanting to know how it went. But most of the messages are in an entirely different category.

"I heard what they said about you. I couldn't believe it. Tell me it's not true."

"Night, are you okay? I've been hearing rumors, but I haven't gotten to look at the news yet to see if what I heard is accurate."

"I never thought anyone would go that far, even a bitch like you. I hope they catch you soon."

_Catch _me? What's going on here? I look at the dates on the messages and realize something interesting. I was supposed to meet with the Tallest at two yesterday, and the time on the first of the . . . unnerving messages is shortly before three. Whatever's going on here, it has something to do with that meeting. Did I miss it?

No, a lot of the people who sent these messages hadn't even heard about it. No one would have told them. And there are other things here, things like, "How on Irk did you get to be a Master when you have so little self-control?" That seems to suggest I _did _something. But what did I do?

I decide to access the news network to find out. I enter the command and wait. Minutes pass before the computer gives up and displays an "out of range" message.

Great. Not only am I apparently now considered a criminal, but I'm not even anywhere in the Irken Empire anymore.

So where am I?

I check the guidance systems, and the autopilot display comes up. It says the course plotted will land me on . . . Earth. Why Earth?

I don't understand this at all. It doesn't look like I'm going to any time soon, either. Whoever did all this also locked the autopilot. I have no choice but to sit here and wait for the ship to get where it's going.

I'm just gonna knock myself out for a while, I think.

* * *

File: Journal

Entry: Uhh, thank God emo-bug-girl is out of the way for now. I get so annoyed with her sometimes. No, wait, a lot of the time. Everything's going to plan so far; I don't think she'll figure out the passwords for the files, which should keep her pretty well under my control. As long as she's got nothing to do, she'll just mope around and sleep a lot, which is excellent for me. It gives me time to get things done.

I'm rather disappointed that I couldn't stick around the Empire, but I'll be back after I've gotten a few things done. I need a new look, a new PAK (either that or modify the old one), and then, when no one will know who I was, I can return. From that point, I can rebuild what I've lost and make myself greater than I was before.

Perhaps I'll even take advantage of my unwilling hostess's exceptional skills in genetics. "Tallest Shade" does sound rather nice . . .

* * *

. . . curious yet? I'm not answering questions, except for a few very specific ones. You'd probably be better off to not ask, but if your curiosity is uncontrollable . . . . 


	14. Status:Bored

File:ReplacementJournal

Entry: I still can't believe this. Who does something like this? Maybe one of Tak's old allies? But . . . if I _did _something, something horrible like the messages seem to indicate . . . maybe I ran? I don't think Earth is a bad place to hide; it's probably a lot safer than most of the fringe planets would be. But I don't see why I would forget everything unless something happened to me. Maybe I was drugged or got hurt or something. Maybe someone knocked me out and erased my memory. What I don't understand is why they would do that.

No, shut up, Night, you know exactly why. I may have made a lot of friends in my years of work for the military, but there are a lot of people who don't like me. A lot of people who don't think I deserve my rank. It's very possible that someone set me up; if they knew enough about me, it would be easy. I hate to admit that, but . . . how is it possible to be alert to every potential danger all the time? I could never get anything _done_ if I was like that.

Entry: Something's wrong here. There are things in the trash that weren't there last time I was awake. Someone else is in this ship. I don't know who or where they would hide, but someone is here.

It's strange; I have an extremely strong feeling that I shouldn't look for them. The very idea of checking the place over makes me feel sick. This isn't normal. Maybe my PAK is malfunctioning; I should take it off for a while and see if that helps. Or maybe I got injured and that messed up something in the BioPak. I don't know. I need to lie down for a while.

* * *

File: Journal

Entry: That was close. Good thing I know how to handle her. Then again, I probably know her better than she knows herself right now. Poor little emo-bug, so lost and alone and confused.

I wish I could start doing my physical modifications, but emo bug didn't pack any of the supplies I'd need. I can't really get anything done with what I have here. Frustrating.

* * *

Yes, this chapter is short; space flight is BORING. 


	15. ETA:Now

File: Journal

Entry: Almost to our new home. Time to wake up little emo bug and let her find us a place to stay. In the meantime, I've got to find myself a nice, dark corner to watch from.

* * *

File: ReplacementJournal

Memory download: Landing

I'm extremely glad I spent the extra money for cloaking shields. It wouldn't do to get detected by some Earth military group. I maneuver carefully through the mass of debris orbiting the planet; it looks like the humans never bother to clear out their orbit space. They must not do much space travel at all or they'd see this stuff for the hazard it is.

Once I'm past the debris layer, I have to work hard to keep the ship under control and at a slow enough descent rate that it won't heat up and make a fiery streak across the sky. I manage, though, and I find myself over a huge landmass covered with vegetation with only occasional bare patches. I check the maps of the planet. They show the land tapering off to the south and a huge area of water to the north, with another landmass beyond that. According to the data I have, that's where Zim is. I think it over for a few minutes and decide to land somewhere on that continent. If anything really crazy happens, it'd be good to have access to Irken technology. I don't know how close to him I want to be, though. I can't trust him, and I don't think I can intimidate him.

It takes a little while to get to the continent I've picked, and it's kind of a frightening place. The humans have roads and buildings _everywhere_. How am I supposed to hide in this? I don't have Invader equipment; sure, I can build a holo-disguise, but I don't have a shelter or anything like that. Maybe I can find a place somewhere remote. There seem to be fewer buildings in some areas than in others.

After a few hours of flying around, I spot a building the looks good. It's ringed by trees and a fenced-in paved lot, which has plenty of plants growing through its numerous cracks. The building itself is fairly large, with a gigantic hole in the roof, and it has two massive hollow towers that loom over it. I bring the ship in through one of the holes and look around. Most of the space is one big room, and there are a lot of plants and some patches of green slime growing where the sunlight comes in through the hole. Off to one side are a few doors that look like they lead to smaller rooms. On another side, large doorways open out into the paved yard. But it's the third side, at the bases of the towers, that fascinates me. Two large openings sit a few feet off the floor, each with a heavy metal door that looks like it could serve as a blast shield. The doors are both open, and as I peer inside, I see nothing. Utter blackness, which seems to pour down from the openings in a powdery stain on the wall. The openings are just big enough to admit the ship, if I make sure it's in full speed form. I turn off the front cloaking shield and flick on the exterior lights, maneuvering to cast as much light as possible into the opening.

It's perfect. The place is a room -- an extremely dirty room, but I can change that. It's a place I can hide and that's all that matters. I set the ship down and climb out. In that moment, the smell of the place hits me. Burning. I know what my hiding place is now -- an abandoned furnace. But a furnace for what?

I need to explore. I grab an image generator from the storage area in my ship; later, I'll program a disguise into it so I can go to the town not far from here, but for now, I set it to cloaking mode. I climb down from the opening and try the weight of the door. With my spider legs to lift me to the right height, I can move it well enough. I'll try and fit the latching mechanism to operate from the inside later.

Now, I cross the room to the other doors, hoping to find some clues as to what this place is and if it's really safe.

Most of the rooms are pretty empty. I find some paper in one that has "Washington Valley Power" printed at the top, with "Coal Plant 6" in smaller lettering under it. That makes sense. A power plant for a society that still uses fossil fuels.

Entry: I've got the place fairly clean by now, at least clean enough to be livable. I've found enough scrap metal to cover the vents most of the way so there won't be too much air flowing through here. I'll fix the door tomorrow; right now, I have the latch jammed open with one of the metal rods I found. And I feel tired. There's something wrong with me. I'll figure out what it is after I get this place secured. For now, I need to rest.

* * *

File: Journal

Entry: She did a good job. I've even got my own room now! I cleaned out the other furnace (much faster than she handled hers), got its vents blocked up, and modified the door. I even put a lock that requires a password so she can't get in. I made sure to hide it, though. It wouldn't do having her know I'm here too soon.

Now, as soon as I get that disguise programmed, I'm going to town. I want to see this Earth place for myself.


	16. Danger:High

File: Journal

Entry: This is a good place. Not a very big town, but big enough. Maybe fifty thousand humans. I spent a good bit of the day just walking around. Managed to pick a couple pockets, too, so I have an idea of what I need to seem legit around here, in addition to some Earth money. Need to find out what these cards with the holograms and long numbers on them are for. I'll look them up at the library or something . . . found a library, by the way. An information storage and access center, freely available to anyone. I can even borrow books if I get a card . . . of course, I have two that I stole, but the human law enforcement may track those. I don't know how much they care about this sort of thing, or what kind of technology they have. Need to read about those things. Probably some law in general, too. It'd be good to know what sort of things I'd get in trouble for.

* * *

File: ReplacementJournal

Entry: I'm concerned. If the clock is right, I slept for a whole day. The computers say I'm okay, but I don't feel good. My muscles hurt, and I feel weak and a bit dizzy. I don't have the equipment to check the code in my PAK or anything; all that got left back on Fortress D. Maybe if I just eat something and relax for a little while, I'll feel better.

I have to think about how much food I've got. I need to know if I can eat Earth food; according to Zim's files, a lot of it burns. Until I can find out, I have to think about rations.

Half my supplies are gone. It had to be my uninvited passenger. I seriously hope it's not _him_ again; but if it is, he's probably run off by now. He wouldn't stay around very long.

I wonder how all this is connected. Two days missing from my mind, something horrible I did, all my passwords discovered, someone hiding on my ship, and getting sick for no apparent reason. It could be an assassin hired by the Tallest. If what I did was really that bad, they'd have every reason to have me killed. Maybe they just decided they hate me and told everyone I did something horrible. It could also be a string of coincidences; stranger things have happened. Or I could just be insane and imagining all this.

Still, I think it's best to proceed under the assumption that someone is out to get me. I won't go out unless I really need to. No sense exposing myself unnecessarily until I know he's gone.

I wish I could get on the news networks . . . maybe I'll have to find a way to tap into Zim's transmitter system. Later. Now, I need to make my muscles quit being sore.

* * *

File: ReplacementJournal

Entry: It seems whoever was with me is still around; I took a nap and woke up to find all my communications systems locked. Even my message center password has been changed now. This journal is the only password-protected file I can still access. I don't understand it; it's as if he's trying to shut me off, isolate me. Maybe I should try to find Zim while I still can; guidance is still online, even though the propulsion systems are locked. If I can download that info into my PAK, I should be able to make a run for it . . . but that would be stupid. So would staying here, unless I can get this place secured properly. It won't do to have him crawling in here while I'm asleep.

At least I still have my distress beacon. That chimney is the perfect place to set it off; the shape will amplify the signal enough that Zim won't be able to miss it. As long as I have that, I should be okay.

* * *

File: Journal

Entry: Well, emo bug has her little fortress all set up now. I'll take care not to disturb her illusion of security when I come in to write. She's getting a bit fragile, I've noticed. That paranoid chatter about someone trying to isolate her. Of course, I've heard it said that it's not paranoia if it's true, so . . .

Still, I need her to stay here. If she leaves, this whole plan will go out the window. All that work erasing those memories, the setup for reintroducing them, and especially my plan for altering my appearance. I need her knowledge, even if I have to get it without her permission. She _has_ to stay for things to work. I know she wouldn't leave without her PAK, even if she doesn't need it to live. Hm. Perhaps I'll just take that . . . but no, it would destroy her little illusion. I need to get her outside if I'm going to steal anything more. How do I do that?

Ahh, I have it. And it'll play into the whole sickness thing, too.

* * *

File:ReplacementJournal

Memory download: It gets worse

I wake up feeling extremely sick. The ship has powered itself down; I can't get it open in time to get to the waste disposal area, so I make a run for the door. I shove it open, not a moment too soon. Whatever I ate last is now all over the floor.

After being shut in the furnace for so long, being outside feels good. I don't care that I'm exposed; the air is calming, and it helps settle the horrible churning in my gut. I know I'm sick. I don't care what the computer says; there's something wrong with me. There's no way I can feel this bad and be all right.

And then a creeping blackness overwhelms me.

I wake up on the floor where I fell. It takes me a minute or so to get up, and when I do, I head straight for the door. It's dangerous to be out if I'm this sick. What if someone had come along and found me? What if that assassin or whoever he is had discovered me lying there?

I try lift myself up on my spider legs to open the door, but I can't. It takes me a second to realize that my PAK is gone. I look around frantically, but it's not on the floor anywhere. It's been stolen.

I _have_ to get inside _now._

Entry: Ok, no more memory downloads for a while. I'd forgotten what a pain they are to do when I have the cable plugged in directly. Stupid jerk stole my PAK . . . dunno what he thinks he's doing, but it's not funny. I can't really get in and out of here now; it was hell trying to close that door with nothing to help. I'm trapped. I guess when my food supplies run out, I'll use the beacon and accept whatever happens. Unless I keep getting worse physically like I have been; in that case, I may not last that long. Not that I really care anymore; what do I have left?


	17. MentalStability:NewLowScore

File: Journal

Entry: All goes well, I think. She's slept for the past few days, which has given me plenty of chance to work uninterrupted. I've gotten together believable replicas of all the necessary papers, and I'm going to get a state ID today. Got an address for a house not far from here that's abandoned . . . hopefully no one's going to be checking on it but me. The place looks like it could be inhabited, but it's not, so should be safe for deliveries as well, provided I keep an eye on it. Yeah, all goes well. Especially once I get a few of those credit cards in the mail.

* * *

File: ReplacementJournal

Entry: I've just been listening to "This Is the End of Your Life" over and over . . . there's nothing else to do.

Nothing.

To.

Do.

I'm trapped here, unless I want to try and get help from Zim or let that . . . whatever he is in to kill me.

I'm using the beacon. There's nothing else I can do if I want to survive.

* * *

File: Journal

Entry: Bastard bitch! I can see his cruiser on the radar now. Guess I'll go try and salvage this mess . . . but she gets nightmares for this.

* * *

File:ReplacementJournal

Entry: This is bad.

This is really, really bad. Extremely horribly bad.

The whole main room of the plant is covered in blood and wreckage. Everywhere.

Carved into the wall, in Irken, "Give it up. Zim is dead." With a still-sparking PAK nailed next to it.

What have I gotten into?

* * *

File: Journal

Entry: It has been years since I last had that much blood on me. It felt good. I've always loved getting reactions, and Night's was excellent. Well worth destroying a stupid, annoying Irken whose only function was to keep poor little emo bug's favorite musicians safe from the Armada.

It's time to start messing with her dreams. It means I'll have to be extremely careful so she won't discover me, but the risk is worth it. At least until my packages arrive at the house later this week.

* * *

File:ReplacementJournal

Entry: Heck with the difficulty, I'm doing a memory download. No other way to record a dream.

Memory download: Weird dream

I bring my ship into the Massive's docking bay and unpack the evidence I brought for the Tallest. A guard meets me as I get out and escorts me to the bridge. The Tallest are there, lounging in a giant sundae made of gummy plooka with butter rum sauce and berry-flavored fudge. I walk up to the edge of their platform.

"My Tallest!" I say, saluting.

"Night!" Red says warmly. "Wanna come swim in the sundae with us?"

"My Tallest, I've brought you proof of Tak's death."

"I need popcorn," Purple yells. He has a melting pile of ice cream on his head. "Somebody get me some popcorn!"

A tech rushes up with a bag of popcorn and hands it to Purple. Purple dives into the sundae with it. The tech turns to leave and notices me. "Night?"

Those eyes are familiar. Red, yes, but with the faintest tinge of deep purple creeping into the depths, patterning like veins near the back. The effects of a rare variant of the virus Spectrum. One I only used twice, on myself and on . . .

"Rife?" For a moment he doesn't respond, and I start to think I'm wrong, but then he rushes toward me.

"I can't believe you're here," he says, placing his hands on my shoulders, looking down at me with incredible warmth. "I missed you so much." He pulls me to him, and I tense. This is stupid, this is wrong . . . but I missed him too. I relax, let my arms slip around his waist, nuzzle into his chest.

"Why didn't you tell me you were leaving? Why didn't you contact me?" I ask.

"I'm a tech. I don't have the kind of liberties an Elite Master does." He pulls back slightly to look me in the eye. "But if I knew I could find you, I would have gone rogue to get to you."

I smile. "All you had to do is look in the corridors of power."

He grins back. "Why do you think I requested this assignment?"

And I wake up.

Entry: So . . . that was it. I cried. Seeing him again hurt, even if it wasn't real. I don't know how I could have ignored the fact, working with defectives like I did, but Rife undoubtedly had hormones that most Irkens don't. I've seen sexualized males and . . . he wasn't one. But he wasn't normal either. He liked to be touched, and he taught me to like it, at least from him. I don't know if I could ever go as far as letting him hug me on the bridge of the Massive, but . . . I'd give almost anything to have him here right now.

"No one's here, and I fall into myself." - Evanescence

* * *

File:ReplacementJournal

Memory download: Odd dream

I bring my ship into the Massive's docking bay and unpack the evidence I brought for the Tallest. A guard meets me as I get out and escorts me to the bridge. The Tallest are wearing judges' costumes and sentencing robot rodents to death by whacking them with huge inflatable hammers.

I walk up to their platform.

"My Tallest," I say, saluting.

"A bug!" Purple screeches, raising his hammer to whack me. It turns into cotton candy, and he starts eating it.

"Why are you here, little bug?" Red asks, munching on his own cotton candy hammer.

"I brought you proof that Tak is dead," I say.

"Good," Red says, "but why aren't you an Irken?"

"I am an Irken, Tallest," I reply, confused. "Just a mutant Irken. It comes from working with genetic viruses."

"Oh, you're that one," Red says. "Shade, was it?"

"Night, Tallest," I say.

"I was hoping for Shade." Red looks hurt, then brightens. "We need to call Zim and splatter him all over some walls. You wait down there with the techs."

I withdraw, feeling all the techs stare at me as I descend from the dais.

One of them looks extremely agitated. He keeps shifting in his seat, looking at me, looking away. I meander around aimlessly, seeking only to move to keep myself occupied, and I soon find that I'm standing right behind him. He turns around, and our eyes meet.

"Night!" he exclaims. I recognize the voice.

"Rife?"

In answer, he gives me such a passionate hug that I almost can't breathe. I hug him back, hard.

"It's so good to see you," I murmur, my voice muffled in the front of his uniform.

"I know. I missed you so much," he says softly.

"_Traitor! Defective!_" a voice overhead screeches. We look up to see Tallest Purple leaning over the edge of the dais, glaring down at us. He sweeps me up into the center of the platform.

"I'm sorry, Tallest, I --"

"_Silence!_" they roar. They both raise their hammers, now made of gleaming metal, and I curl up in a ball, hoping it won't hurt.

That's how I wake up.

Entry: I was so convinced that dream was real . . . and I have to admit, it's left me shaken. Losing Rife once was enough. To lose him, my rank, and my life all at once . . . if there was an afterlife, I wouldn't be sane in it.

There were a couple of strange things, though, now that I look over that transcript. Red said he "was hoping for Shade." Why? It's not like the other things, the random dream weirdness. It's got something behind it. Who, or what, is Shade? What does that word mean to me? It _is_ my dream, after all, right?

"The glitter, it comes back to haunt you." - Joy Electric

* * *

File: Journal

Entry: Hm. Might need to be more cautious. I don't want her knowing who I am yet; I think I know how I'm gonna announce myself, and I want her to be . . . cracking. Ready to fall to pieces. And if she's not, she should at least be weak enough that I can break her. Nothing more to spark her intelligence, only enough to fuel her fears and depression.

* * *

So welcome, everyone, to Night's horrible new world. Hope you're enjoying it more than she is.

No hints as to who/what this Shade creature is, no matter how hard you beg.


	18. State:Dreaming

File:ReplacementJournal

Memory download: Freaky dream

I bring my ship into the Massive's docking bay and unpack the evidence I brought for the Tallest. A guard meets me as I get out and escorts me to the bridge. The Tallest are floating overhead, chasing jellybeans through the air like diving birds.

I walk to the edge of their platform.

"My Tallest!" I shout up at them, saluting.

"Watch this," Purple yells, doing a triple flip to capture a white jellybean. They both dive down to meet me and float just above my eye level.

"I have the proof you asked for," I say, turning to open the case I brought. But it's huge now, taller than me and nearly the size of my ship's cockpit. "Um, can someone help me with this?" I ask.

"You, tech, get over here and help," Red barks.

A red-eyed tech runs over and takes one side of the lid. I grab the other, and together we heave it open to reveal a glittering knife carved from a jewel made of blood.

I look up and recognize the tech. "Rife!"

His eyes grow wide, and he runs. I turn to see where he's gone, but he vanishes into the crowd.

I chase after him, calling his name, but the floor distorts beneath my feet, slowing me down, making it impossible to catch up to him. I run through the halls, searching for Rife, sometimes hearing his voice, sometimes seeing him, but never cornering him.

Finally, I jerk awake.

I've lost him forever now, I know it.

* * *

File:ReplacementJournal

Entry: Now that I've been up for a little while, I can write about that one. It just hurt. I can't even express the depth of that pain . . . I thought it was gone. I thought the days of worrying about tears getting into the cracks in the keyboard were over. But obivously not.

Is it just beacuse I'm lonely? Is it just the fact that I have no one here, nothing to do, no place to go, so my mind dwells on him? Do these dreams _mean_ something?

I wish I knew. But I can't figure it out just sitting here in front of a computer that has no helpful functions available.

I'm going back to sleep. I still don't feel good.

* * *

File: Journal

Entry: Oh, these dreams mean plenty, little emo bug. For one, they mean I'm sick of you just sitting around moping. It bores me to death. Sleep or do something entertaining, or else! For another thing, they mean I want to break you. Isn't that a bit obvious? Why else would I let -- no, make you get all emotional over something that you'll never have again? Why else would I want you to miss him, to ache for him? To show you that you were stupid for wanting him when all you need is me. To show you that you were a fool to throw me aside like you did. You refused me once, but now you're mine.

* * *

File:ReplacementJournal

Memory download: Bad dream

I bring my ship into the Massive's docking bay and unpack the evidence I brought for the Tallest. A guard meets me as I get out and escorts me to the bridge. The Tallest are building a tower of dried meat sticks, eating the ones that are too bent to work.

I walk up to their dais.

"My Tallest," I say, saluting.

They both turn to me. "Ah, Night," Red says. "Did you bring us evidence?"

"I did, Tallest," I say, picking up the case. I step up onto the platform and set it down in front of me.

Just as I start to unlatch it, a tech appears beside me.

"My Tallest?" he says.

"What is it?" says Purple.

"I was sent with the repair report from engineering." He holds out a tablet, which Purple takes. The Tallest watch the data intently as it flashes across the screen.

The tech doesn't leave; he's obviously been told to wait for a reply. I glance up at him, annoyed that he interrupted my meeting. He's looking back at me. And I know those eyes. I know what's coming next.

"Night?" His eyes widen slightly at the possibility.

"Stay away from me," I snarl.

He looks hurt. He extends his arms, pleading. "Don't you remember me?"

"I know who you are, Rife, and I said to leave me alone," I growl.

"But . . ."

"Make _sure_ it's done by this time," Purple barks.

Rife jumps, snapping into a salute. "Yes, Tallest." He turns to go, glances nervously at me. "Please, Night, I --"

"Get going!" Red yells. Rife scurries off, back to the belly of the ship where he belongs.

As I turn around to face the Tallest, they've become looming monsters . . .

I wake up, but only long enough to realize it was a dream.


	19. Location:New

Memory download: Disturbing dream

I bring my ship into the Massive's docking bay and unpack the evidence I brought for the Tallest. A guard meets me as I get out . . . the Tallest are businesslike as they suck on their sodas. Red puts his down as I open the case.

A tech interrupts. Just informing the Tallest that there will be a slight delay in the Massive's progress as they change the main fuel core.

He looks at me.

I know what's about to happen: "Night?" he says.

But this time there's surprise in my voice again. "Rife?" And an unpleasant edge.

"It's been so long. I tried to --"

"Shut up," I snarl, at the same moment doing it for him. He chokes; I can feel the ridges of his windpipe digging into my palm. "You are a defective bastard and you ruined my life," I inform him, trying so hard to hide my emotion that I can barely breathe.

I feel warm blood between my fingers. My vision blurs with tears. I can't do this. I can't choose. Do I want Rife or my rank? I obviously can't have both . . . .

I'm about to wake up. I feel the blanket against my skin, the shape of the cushions as I start to regain consciousness, but then I'm swept back into the dream by a rush of emotion.

Rage. Self-hatred. Bloodlust. I glare at Rife, smile twistedly. "You defective scum." The words come from my mouth, but not in my voice. I've spoken with an edge of that voice in mine, sometimes, but this goes beyond any tone I've ever used in smoothness, acidity and venom.

"For all the pain you've caused me," I say in that unfamiliar tone.

Still choking him with one hand, I rip into his arm with the claws of the other. I throw him down, pin him there with the legs from my PAK. This time, I use both hands, and I feel my claws hit bone, bumping over his ribs like rough terrain as the flesh of his chest tears away. He's screaming, the Tallest are yelling, but I hear practically nothing. Faint shouts almost drowned by the roar of silence as I break and tear and gouge and slash.

Everything is the color of blood now.

Everything but his bones.

Rife is gone, but they can never take him away from me.

I wake up slowly, feeling dazed and numb. I eat something and then pass out on the floor.

* * *

File: Journal

Entry: It's time. My supplies came in the mail today, and I have them all packed and locked up in the ship. We'll need to move on as soon as I've kept my appointment; hopefully, the virus will work the way the documentation says it should and not faster. That would be a serious problem. As things stand, I don't think a little pain should be enough to keep me from getting us out of here and setting us up in Zim's old base.

Emo bug is really very useful sometimes. I'm quite glad now that I had to get rid of the stupid pseudo-Invader; it makes everything so much more convenient for this plan.

* * *

File:ReplacementJournal

Memory download: Surreal

I wake up on the floor of the cockpit, where I fell. The ship is closed; it must have shut automatically for some reason. I sit up. My right arm hurts, like I scraped it. I check, and there's a bandage that wasn't there last time I was awake. It's thin, and the blood soaked into the padding looks dry, so I carefully pull it off. Underneath is a line of Irken writing. A tattoo.

It spells one word: Shade.

I touch it, and the tenderness convinces me it's real. Not an illusion. How did this happen?

I get up, look around wildly . . . and realize the ship isn't parked in the furnace anymore. It's in a building. An Irken building. I open the cockpit and leap out, my senses going crazy with alertness. Then I realize I'm standing on my PAK legs -- I have my PAK again. This is insane. What's happening here?

"What is this?" I yell. "Who are you?"

My voice echoes through the room, down the halls. Nothing answers.

"Computer!"

"Yeah?" the mechanical voice asks dully. I remember that voice -- Zim's computer.

"Who else is here?" I demand.

"Nobody."

"No one in the whole base?"

"Nope, just you. Oh, here's that news story."

"What?"

Before I can think about what the computer just said, a human pops up on a video screen, talking about something. ". . . doctors have not yet identified the virus but believe it is connected to a tattoo shop in Washington Valley where both victims worked. Two other people who were at the tattoo shop yeserday have been hospitalized with similar symptoms. The shop has been shut down for inspection, and health officials are reccommending that anyone who has visited Black's Ink in Washington Valley within the past week treat any weakness, vomiting, and muscle aches as serious and get medical attention immediately. Investigators want to speak to Shade Garrett of Washington Valley in connection with this case." As he says this, the screen displays a photo of a young human female with short, purple-streaked black hair that hangs down over her left eye. The screen goes black; the report is over.

Shade. Her name is everywhere now. The humans believe she's one of them, but a convincing disguise isn't hard to create.

"Computer, find me all the information in the Irken network on Shade."

"There isn't anything," the computer replies.

"What?"

"No Irken named Shade has ever existed."

"What about other races, then?"

"There's no record of any living thing by that name."

Of course, they could have just deleted everything that could prove her existance. But . . . I need to look at this rationally. I never see her. She does things while I'm asleep -- and I never slept before she showed up. She hacked my computer system and stole my PAK. She killed Zim in a psychotically bloody way. She unleashed either WhiteX or a very similar virus in the town near the old power plant. And then there's this tattoo . . .

They said the virus killed people at a tattoo shop. Exposure to WhiteX-infected blood -- my blood -- can kill, even as small an amount as a tattoo would release. And tattooing is not an easy thing to learn, really. Does it mean I was there? But . . . no. it's not possible.

I need to go through this ship and find out everything. Try passwords, open all the storage compartments, all of it.

First, the central password. It'll open all the files, except the most secure ones.

_It's Shade, idiot._

I shake my head. Odd. But I try it . . . and it works. A file opens automatically.

--------------

File: Formal introduction

So you finally figured out my name. Congratulations. I suppose you now want to know who I am, exactly, and what I want. If you really think about it, you know the answer to the first one. From there, the second shouldn't be hard to deduce.

By the way, Rife _is_ dead.

"I'm the culture shock, temporary block . . . The big surprise is me." - The Elms

"Do you understand? The dream is over." - The Juliana Theory

"This truth drives me into madness . . .

Don't close your eyes

God knows what lies behind them." - Evanescence

--------------

She knows about Rife. And she knows . . . is there anything about me she doesn't know? That last quote seems related to the dream I had.

I rush over and access the news network. I can finally find out what really happened that day.


	20. End:File

File:ReplacamentJounal

Entry: . . . . no wonder I didn't remember.

No wonder I ran away.

I'm amazed that I managed to escape.

And . . . I don't even want to think it.

That dream was true.

According to the news network -- they have video, but I can't make myself watch it -- I killed Rife. On the bridge of the Massive. In front of the Tallest.

I've been labeled a psychopath, a murderer. Some of the people I worked with got interviewed, and one of them even compared me to Sideos.

. . . if what I dreamed was accurate, I think I might agree.

Memory download: The voice

_"Don't be so quick to claim that honor for yourself. It's mine._"

"What?" I look around, but no one's there. "Shade?"

"_Right on the first guess._"

"Where are you?"

"_You haven't figured out yet? What is it that human said, 'The impossible and probable is better than the possible and improbable,' right?"_

"What do you mean?"

_"Think about it. Let me know when you've got it figured out."_

Okay . . . the tattoo. It's not possible that I could have been at that shop, but it's less probable that someone else would have WhiteX and take the trouble to tattoo my arm here. It's not very probable that Shade could have avoided me all this time. It's also not very probable that I suddenly need to sleep a lot. And that photo of Shade they showed . . . looked like a human version of me.

"You are Irken, right?"

_"Only as Irken as you,"_ she replies with a nasty chuckle. Then I recognize the voice.

"You killed Rife. It was you talking in my dream."

_"And another point for you."_

"But . . . they all think I did it. You ruined my life!"

"_Minus five. You were doing well until you said that."_

"But if you killed him, it couldn't have been me!"

_"You're ignoring all the evidence. And besides, think about what happened at that point. You had two options: push him away and keep your job, or fall into his arms and be declared a defective. What did you choose?"_

"Neither. I couldn't make that decision."

_"What would you choose now?"_

"I just want him back."

"_Because you are our weak side."_

"What?"

_"Isn't it obvious by now? Two minds, one body. You haven't been truly sleeping; you're just unconscious while I'm in charge. I'm the one that got us out of the Massive and brought us here." _

"So what are you, a PAK virus?"

_"No, you idiot. Haven't you noticed? Your tolerance of violence, your discipline, your ingenuity and desire for power have all been practically nonexistant since that day.Those aspects of our mind became me. Shade, the truly Irken part of you. I've always been around; it just took the conflict of a lifetime to fully separate me from you, much like it takes electricity to separate the hydrogen and oxygen that bond together to make water."_

"So what does this mean?" I ask guardedly.

_"It means,"_ Shade says with a smile in her voice, "_that without me, you're a defective. You can't go back; they'll kill you. But I don't want to be stuck here for the rest of my life because of you. You've casued me enough trouble already."_

"So what are you going to do about it?"

She snarls, her already chilling voice becoming even more venomous._"I'm declaring my independence from you, little emo bug. I don't have the resources here to separate myself from you physically, unless you know some things I don't."_ She gives a short, sarcastic laugh. _"Of course, seeing as I've got access to all your memories, that's unlikely. Anyway, as long as you let me run things, I'll consider separating us once I've re-established my position in the Empire. If you resist, I'll make you more miserable than you can imagine."_

"I know all your tricks, Shade. They're mine too."

_"You only think that. You always hated our job; I'm the one who enjoyed it. And besides, I was always an innovator. You used to know everything I thought, but it's a one-way view now, bug. I've got all the aces, and I can see all your cards. Give up before I decide to destroy you completely."_

No matter how I look at it, she's right, at least for now. Maybe I can find a way to get rid of her eventually, but at the moment, I have no real choice.

So . . . this is the end of my life.

* * *

It's not over yet. The sequel is called "Command Not Recognized", and I hope to have it up pretty soon . . . after I write the bits my coauthor is waiting so patiently for. (you've gotta yell at me more, Brit-boy, if you want things to get done!) 


End file.
